Well, I admit that it's been an uncomfortable few weeks but I think that at last we'll be able to put the upheaval and drama behind us and get our lives back on track. So, as I sit waiting for my wife to finish showering, I'll need to tell you some background. My name is Dave; Dave Swinburn. I left school at sixteen and got an apprenticeship with a local agricultural engineering company. It turns out that, despite me not being academically gifted, I'm actually pretty competent with machinery, particularly the big gear on farms. Only eight years later, as a twenty four year old, I make good money and my job is about as secure as you can get.
The next thing you need to understand is about Katie; I met her when she moved here to study biochemistry at the local university. She met my sister, Eleanor, there and they became BFFs almost immediately. My wife, Sophie, insists that they are closer than most siblings.
So, getting back to the point, Ellie introduced me to Katie; I was besotted at once, and we were a couple all through her three year course. We went everywhere together. I paid of course. By then I was nineteen and earning and the girls were struggling to get by on their student loans.
All good things come to an end, though. And, after graduation, Katie got a job offer that she couldn't refuse, working in a pharmaceutical research lab about three hundred miles away. I offered to look for work in the area but she put her hand on my cheek and told me that she couldn't live with the guilt of tearing me from my family and friends and that it was time to part ways. That was three years ago.
About six months after Katie left, I was in the pub with a group of lads from the workshop when a gang of lasses sat at the next table. Their table was short a couple of seats and we had some spare so we passed them across. That broke the ice and we got chatting. Nothing heavy, just amiable banter between the tables. There was one girl though, that I couldn't stop glancing at. Quite tall for a lass, stacked up top too, but not fat, just booby. I watched her as she went to the bar for a round. She had a gorgeous bum and her tight jeans showed it off to perfection. She was pretty too, without being 'glam' if you know what I mean. She was the quietest of her group; not that she said nothing, but she seemed to think before speaking, unlike some of her friends.
The next time she got up, to use the loos, I followed her as far as the bar and ordered a round for me and a couple of the other guys. When she came back I caught her eye and asked if I could order her a drink too. She said not, but thanked me and we started chatting.
"You've been staring at me all night," she observed.
"I meant no offence," I apologised. "But a lass as good looking as you must be used to it."
"Very slick," she complimented me. "You're a proper charmer aren't you?"
I was confused. I'm going to have to be honest here. I hear people talking about social cues and reading the room and it's like I'm the only one that doesn't 'get it'.
"It's only the truth," I insisted. "You're really pretty and easy to talk to."
She looked at me thoughtfully; it actually felt like I was in an airport scanner. She must have liked what she saw though. A six foot mechanic, clean hands and nails, neatly groomed and drinking sensibly. She held her hand out. "Phone." She demanded.
I took out my phone, unlocked it and handed it across. She took it and paused. "Are you seeing anyone? I'm serious here. Have you a girlfriend, boyfriend or even a gender fluid significant other? I won't be the other woman."
"Single as they come," I reassured her. "The last person to call me her boyfriend moved away months ago and the few girls I've dated since, probably don't even remember my name."
She considered for a moment and the sent a text message. I heard a notification sound from her bag. "There. You have my number. File it under 'Sophie' in your contacts. Call me if you want. But," here she looked intently at me. "Don't play games. I think I might like to get to know you, but I haven't the patience for guys who fuck me about. If you're interested, call: if you're not, then don't."
She handed back my phone, smiled and went back to her friends. I paid and collected the three pints from the barman then made my way to my mates' table and carefully set the beers down. Gary must have noticed my diversion. "You dog!" he gloated, raising his hand for a high five.
I left him hanging. "Seriously, Gaz? Are you fourteen?"
I picked up my pint and noticed Sophie looking approvingly from the other table. As the night progressed the lines blurred somewhat between the groups to the point where she and I ended up sitting opposite each other, just talking. It was nice; nothing intense; which schools we went to, what we did for a living, where we lived. As we parted in the car park at about eleven that evening, she kissed my cheek and whispered, "Just for the record, I've enjoyed my first date with you." Then she went to join her friends who were ribbing her, chanting, "Oooohhh, Sophie's got a boyfriend." from where they were waiting along the street.
It was only ten minutes to my flat, and I was halfway there when the possible significance of her comment hit me. Good girls didn't consider sex until the third date. Sophie might just have moved us along the process. I made a note to stop in at the pharmacy at lunchtime the next day.
When I got home, I put the kettle on and, while I waited for my tea to brew, sent a text. "Enjoyed tonight. Will call tomorrow." I didn't use cutesy text speak; that didn't seem like 'us'.
She replied five minutes later. "Me too. Looking forwards."
I slept well that night and the following morning, before I left for work, I sent, "can I call you at lunchtime?"
My phone chirped as I drove to the workshop. "Please. About 12:30."
I did, and we made a date to go to the cinema. The next date, three days later was a nice meal at an Italian restaurant. We ended up in my bed after the meal. She was impressed that my flat was clean and tidy; she was impressed that my bed had clean sheets; she was impressed that I had a choice of condoms and she was even more impressed by my dick. I'm not porn-star huge but I am entitled to be a little smug. I also enjoy cunnilingus, so I am doubly appreciated in bed.
Our first time together was just raw sex. Neither of us had been laid in well over a month and we just needed to fuck. Oh, and how we did. After our first round which consisted of five minutes licking her out and ten minutes trying to pound her through the bed and into the basement flat below, I collapsed on top of her, those magnificent tits even more glorious in the flesh. Eventually, I slipped out of her and, as a gentleman should, rolled to one side and tried to stay awake.
"Well," she murmured, contentedly. "That was everything I could have hoped for."
"Absolutely," I managed to gasp as I tried to get my breath back.
We lay basking in the afterglow for quite a while until I went to use the bathroom, lose the contraceptive and generally clean up. On my return, Sophie demonstrated her own oral skills, bringing me to the point where another condom was required. She rolled it on for me and straddled my thighs, carefully feeding my dick inside her. She gave a little moan of satisfaction as she wiggled her hips to get comfortable.
"David," she said. "While I have your undivided attention. What is this? Are we fuck buddies or is this a relationship?" She eased backwards and forwards. "You're getting fucked either way, so it isn't a trick question."
I thought that I understood. "I'd like to see you again. And I'd really like to do this again. If you feel the same, then I won't date another woman until you tell me we're through."
